


All You Knead is Love

by a_gay_poster



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, GaaLee Fest 2019, Gratuitous Pun Abuse, M/M, Sorry Vegans but Hemp Milk is Awful, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 19:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20345698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_gay_poster/pseuds/a_gay_poster
Summary: “Would you like to try a sample of our Super Sandy Pecan Sandies? They’re- “ He grimaces. “- fan-cactus.”“Sure!” the guy says. He steps closer to the counter, and - oh, fuck, he hasdimples, Gaara’s going to die here. “They don’t … actually have sand in them, right?”Gaara looks down at his t-shirt, which has a picture of a friendly Saguaro with the phraseMaking CactIinto CactUS, then levels the guy with a stare.“No,” he deadpans. “It’s a pun. We’re all about the puns here.”In which Gaara and Lee work at rival bakeries, and the terrible puns are theyeastof their worries.Written for the GaaLee Summertime of Love Fest 2019, Day 3: Coffee Shop/Bakery AU.





	All You Knead is Love

“Wow!” a voice calls from near the shop entrance. “It smells _amazing_ in here!” Calling it a ‘voice’ is an understatement, really. It’s more of a ‘boom’. Gaara looks up from the cash register just on the off chance that the person is actually carrying a megaphone. 

The guy at the door is _not_ carrying any kind of amplification device, but he does have the widest smile Gaara’s ever seen. He’s like a man stepping out of the pages of a romance novel - literally - tall, dark, and handsome. 

“_Bun_jour,” Gaara says, and winces. How did he let his sister talk him into this? No amount of money is worth mortifying himself in front of an attractive stranger. “and welcome to Desert Desserts. Would you like to try a sample of our Super Sandy Pecan Sandies? They’re- “ He grimaces. “- fan-_cactus_.” 

“Sure!” the guy says. He steps closer to the counter, and - oh, fuck, he has _dimples_, Gaara’s going to die here. “They don’t … actually have sand in them, right?” 

Gaara looks down at his t-shirt, which has a picture of a friendly Saguaro with the phrase _Making Cact**I** into Cact**US**_, then levels the guy with a stare. 

“No,” he deadpans. “It’s a pun. We’re all about the puns here.” 

“That is so cute and funny!”

Gaara feels his eyebrow creeping up his forehead despite himself. The guy may be hot, but he seems like kind of an airhead. Gaara breaks off a piece of cookie and passes it over the counter. God, the guy has super defined forearms too. Gaara’s done for.

“Mmm, wow!” the guy says, wiping a few stray crumbs from his lips (which are perfectly soft and kissable looking, by the way, not that Gaara’s keeping track or anything). “That is delicious!”

“Do you want to get a box?” Gaara recites robotically. “They’re on special, a half-dozen for $3.50.” 

“Actually, I was hoping to place a custom order? I saw some of the cake art in your window, and I wanted to know if you might be able to do something similar with cupcakes.” 

Gaara has to take a moment to mentally reset gears from cashier drone to salesman. 

“Absolutely,” he says. Kankuro always encourages him to smile when making a custom sale, but Temari has warned him not to. Apparently his smile is ‘creepy’ and ‘kind of unnerving’ and ‘serial-killer-esque’. The result of their contradictory instructions is a half-smirk that probably looks more sarcastic than welcoming. At least the guy doesn’t seem put off, giving a tiny fist-pump and an eager grin. Gaara grabs a blank order form from under the counter and turns towards the kitchen. “Temari, I’ve got a custom,” he calls. 

“Okay!” her voice comes muffled from behind the closed kitchen door. Her beaters whir to a stop. “I’ll be out in a sec!”

“Please, have a seat,” Gaara says stiffly, and gestures to one of the tables in the back of the shop. 

Once he and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome are seated across from each other at one of the shop’s round, mosaic-topped tables, Gaara clicks his pen a bit officiously. 

“Can I get a name for the order?”

“Rock Lee,” the guy says. “Or, uh, just Lee is also fine.”

Gaara jots his name at the top of the form, then looks up. Lee is staring at him, waiting. Shit, he’s got cheekbones that could cut glass. _Professionalism,_ Gaara reminds himself. _Salesmanship._

“I’m Gaara,” he replies, and extends his hand across the table to shake. Lee’s one hand is bigger than both of Gaara’s combined - _goddamn_ \- and he shakes just like a businessman, pumping Gaara’s hand enthusiastically and squeezing. Strong grip. Gaara grunts a little in surprise. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” Lee says, and seems to actually mean it. 

“Likewise,” Gaara says, and it doesn’t feel like a lie. “So, what’s the special occasion?”

“Oh,” Lee rubs a palm against the back of his neck. It’s then that Gaara notices that Lee’s shirt is sleeveless. He’d been so distracted by Lee’s straight teeth and broad palms that he hadn’t even realized. On one of his frankly incredible biceps is a tattoo of an elaborate lotus flower in deep greens and sultry pinks, the linework almost as stunning as his musculature. “Well, my friend is finally moving out of his family’s house and starting T! So we’re having a little party to celebrate him taking his first shot next Tuesday.” 

Lee scans Gaara’s face with a curious, guarded expression. His shoulders tense as if bracing for impact. 

“That’s fantastic,” Gaara hurries to say. “And you wanted to do decorated cupcakes? How many?”

Lee beams and nods rapidly. 

“I was thinking a dozen?”

“Okay… “ Gaara begins scribbling. In the background he hears the creak and swing of the kitchen door opening and the clack of Temari’s heels on the tiled floor. How she stands in them all day, he’ll never know. As it is, Gaara is this close to switching to an all-Crocs footwear situation. “Aaand, pick up next Tuesday, shouldn’t be a problem. So, what were you thinking for the design?”

“Right!” Lee slams his fist into his open palm enthusiastically, his grin growing even wider, if that were even possible. “I was thinking about doing a bird design? Something like this…” He taps at his phone then turns it towards Gaara. On the screen is a vectorized image of a white bird soaring away from an open cage, its wings outstretched. 

“We should be able to do that,” Gaara confirms. “Can you email me that picture? I’ll give you a business card.” 

There’s a brief flurry of the exchange of contact information - paper passed between hands and rapid typing, and then Gaara’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks his notifications - Lee’s email address is _ThePowerofYOUTH_, for god’s sake - and confirms he received it. “I’ll make sure my brother gets this,” he adds. 

“Your brother is the decorator?” Lee asks politely. Gaara nods. “His work is really incredible! Those cakes in the window - they hardly even look like cakes.”

“They aren’t.” Gaara isn’t supposed to tell people that, but something about Lee’s bright eyes makes his mouth run ahead of his brain. “They’re just carved styrofoam with fondant on them. Otherwise they’d go rotten.”

“Ohhh,” Lee breathes. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. I never thought about that!” 

“Most people don’t.” 

“Hey, Gaara?” Lee says after a moment. Damn, does Gaara like the way his name sounds in Lee’s mouth. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Su-ure,” Gaara says hesitantly. “Shoot.”

“You don’t think it’s too much, do you? The bird thing? I thought it was kind of nice, on account of the symbolism, but now I’m kind of worried…” 

“I think it’s beautiful,” Gaara says sincerely. 

Lee heaves a sigh of relief. “Oh, good, good. I always worry I might have not have thought things through. Sometimes my heart gets ahead of my head.”

Looking at the cut of Lee’s collarbone where his shirt collar droops, Gaara sympathizes with the feeling. 

“So, your tattoo- ” Gaara says, tapping at Lee’s muscled bicep with the end of his pen. “- is it symbolic, too?”

“It is!” Lee rubs at the spot Gaara touched and his uninked bicep flexes. Gaara licks his lips nervously. “Lotuses bloom twice, so it represents second chances!”

“Gorgeous,” Gaara says. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Um, the artwork, I mean.”

“Thanks.” There’s a pale blush spreading across Lee’s cheeks. Gaara swallows around a sudden lump in his throat, his eyes fixed on Lee’s dimples. “Um, what about you? Any tattoos?”

“Just one.”

“Can I see?”

Gaara glances around the store, eyes narrowed. The cafe area is empty, and behind the counter, Temari is hunched over the inventory list, pen tapping at her thinned lips. 

“Sure.” He pulls down the collar of his shirt - for a second he almost forgot about the painfully stupid cactus design on its front - to show the red kanji on his chest, right over his heart. 

“Love?” Lee asks, one thick eyebrow raised.

“You speak Japanese?” 

“Only a little. I was born in Hong Kong, actually, but I took a bit of Japanese in high school. The character is almost the same in Chinese, though.”

“Oh,” Gaara says, for want of anything else to say. “That’s cool.” _That’s stupider than if you hadn’t said anything at all,_ his inner voice upbraids him. 

“Does it have a special meaning?” The dimple on Lee’s right cheek is deep enough that Gaara thinks he could slot his thumb into it if they kissed. Not that they’re going to kiss. Because Lee is a customer, and Gaara is a consummate professional. A professional who just pulled down his shirt during business hours because a hot guy asked him to, but a professional nonetheless. 

“It’s for my mother,” Gaara replies softly. Is it weird to bare your whole heart to a super attractive guy you just met? Probably, he thinks, but it’s making him feel all soft and warm inside. 

“That’s lovely,” Lee says, his booming voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur. Wow, he’s leaned _super_ far across the table… 

The sound of paper tearing rips through the shop, and Lee and Gaara jump apart. Behind the counter, Temari has the completed inventory list held in one manicured hand, staring at them with a blonde eyebrow arched. 

“Um.” Gaara straightens the order form unnecessarily. Has he forgotten anything? “Oh, flavors! What kind of cupcake did you want?”

“What are the options?” 

Gaara unfolds a glossy brochure on the table between them and points to a list on the first page.

“The top few are our most popular - there’s the _Desserted Island_, that’s chocolate with marshmallow and graham cracker filling, the _Que Sahara, Sahara_, that’s vanilla and mango, the _Aloe You Vera Much_, that’s strawberry with dark chocolate ganache…” 

Lee chuckles softly, then more loudly … after a few seconds, he throws his head back and laughs. Like, a completely unironic and genuine laugh. Shoulders shaking, grabbing his stomach, the whole nine. Gaara freezes and blinks a few times to make sure he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. 

“Oh my _goodness_,” Lee gasps, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Those names are just _hilarious_.”

“They’re terrible,” Gaara corrects him. 

“If you say so,” Lee assents, eyes twinkling. “Ooh, what about this one? _Don’t Hate the Playa, Hate the Game_? I don’t get it.”

“_Playa_, is Spanish for ‘beach’,” Gaara explains, wrinkling his nose. “It’s a sand joke.”

Lee’s eyes scan the list, widening. He claps one hand over his mouth.

“Oh, some of these are naughty!” His voice drops to what could charitably be called a scandalized whisper. “_Beach Better Have My Money_? _You Succ_? _For Fennec Fox Sake_?”

“Wine moms love them.”

“I bet.” Lee points to the last item on the list. “But I think I’m gonna go with this one, actually.” 

“The _Don’t Be a Prick_?” Gaara glances up at Lee’s face. “That has actual _nopales_ in it, you know. As in real cactus. Not everyone’s a fan.”

“I think it will be fine,” Lee says. “Besides, the name is just so fitting for Neji.” 

“Hey, it’s your party.” Gaara pulls his phone from his pocket and punches a few figures into the calculator app, then scribbles the total onto the bottom of the form and holds it out towards Lee. “Okay, so that will be your total. You can pay half today and half when you pick up, or all of it today.”

All the color drains from Lee’s face. 

“Oh,” he says slowly. “I didn’t, um-” 

Gaara studies his blanch for a moment. He knows their prices are a bit steep, but the custom decorations take a long time. “Do you … want to do a half-dozen instead? Then the price would be half.”

Lee smiles at Gaara again and damn, that dimple just doesn’t know when to quit, huh? 

“That will be perfect.”

Gaara could tell Lee a little something about _perfect_, he thinks.

* * *

“Gaara, that you?” Temari calls when he comes in for his shift a few days later. He can hear the telltale hammering that means she’s chopping ungodly quantities of walnuts. 

“Yeah.”

“Come into the back real quick, I’ve got a special project for you.” 

That doesn’t sound promising. Even less promising is the sly grin on her face as she dusts flour from her hands onto her apron. 

“Did you know there’s an allergen-free bakery three blocks over?”

Why would he possibly know or care about that?

“No.”

“Neither did I, until today.” She pulls her phone out of her apron pocket and shows him an article titled _Gluten-Free Gluttony: No-Wheat Vegan Bakery Makes Our Hearts Skip a Beet_. 

Gaara’s lip wrinkles instinctively into a disgusted sneer. 

“Anyway,” Temari continues, pocketing her phone, “I need you to head over there today and scope out the competition. See what kind of stuff they’re offering, if they’re busy, that sort of thing.”

Gaara makes a pained expression. 

“But it’s _vegan_,” he protests. “They don’t even use real flour. How much competition can they really be?” 

Temari just looks at him expectantly and picks up her walnut-chopping knife again. 

Given the amount of butter and white sugar Temari goes through in a week, Gaara _really_ doesn’t think they’re serving the same clientele, but he acquiesces with a slump of his shoulders and a sigh.

“Sorry, kiddo, I know it’s a drag- ” She sounds just like her boyfriend when she says that. “- but market research is important. The forces of capitalism bend to no man.”

“Fine,” Gaara grumbles, “but if I end up having to drink _nut milk_, I’m putting your good knives in the dishwasher.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she smirks, and spins her knife over her knuckles to jab it into the woodblock.

She’s right, he wouldn’t, but the thought is comforting.

* * *

Jesus H. Christ, Gaara thinks to himself, staring up at the awning over _Off the Wheaten Path_. Does every bakery in this town have a hard-on for awful puns? He takes a deep breath and steels himself before he pushes the rough wooden crossbar that serves as the door’s handle and steps into the shop. 

The interior of the bakery smells like … wheatgrass, probably? Gaara doesn’t actually know what wheatgrass smells like, but if he had to put a name to that weird, lawn-clipping smell in the air, that’s what he’d call it. There’s some kind of loopy instrumental music warbling through the overhead speakers, and everything is shades of beige and brown. 

_So this is how the other half lives, huh,_ he thinks. Two women in high ponytails and yoga pants squeeze past him, not a cankle in sight. Suddenly Gaara doesn’t mind his love-handles so much, if this is the alternative. 

“Gaara?” 

Against all odds, standing behind the counter is none other than Rock Lee. His dark hair is pushed back from his face by the brim of a dark brown visor. He’s wearing a t-shirt in the exact same beige as the tasteful accent wall behind him, stretched sinfully tight across his broad chest. On the front of it, in looping white script, the shirt reads: _Radical Baking Means Going Against the Whole Grain._

“Hey, Lee.” Gaara gives a weak wave from his wrist. He’s abruptly acutely aware of his Friday uniform shirt - whose blocky print proclaims _Dinner Rolls not Gender Roles_ \- and the smear of pink frosting on the heel of his hand.

He doesn’t have too long to think about it because Lee is rounding the counter and grabbing him in a tight hug. _Oh,_ Gaara thinks, distantly. _This is unexpected_. Lee’s biceps are even more intimidating up close, and the heels of Gaara’s Chucks leave the floor when Lee squeezes him tight. It takes him a moment to remember that hugs are typically meant to be reciprocal, but he has just enough time to pat Lee’s back a few times before he’s released. Even his back muscles have muscles, it’s unbelievable. 

“What are you doing here?” Lee asks, giving Gaara’s shoulders a final squeeze. His hands are warm, and he smells like the world’s best sourdough starter. 

“Um, you know,” Gaara says lamely, “I was just … in the neighborhood. Hoping to try some- “ He glances at the bakery case and cringes. “- _Challa Back Girl_.” 

“Have you had it before?” Lee asks, without the faintest hint of irony. “It’s delicious!” 

The yoga pants ladies are giving him the side-eye for cutting in line, so he just shakes his head. 

“I might need a minute to look at the menu.”

“Of course!” Lee says. “Take your time! You know where to find me.” He turns to walk behind the counter, but at the last moment he glances over his shoulder at Gaara and - god help him - he _winks_. Gaara may literally pass out before he even has the chance to try a bite of the _I Knew You Were Truffle When You Walked In_ vegan chocolate cake. 

At least the line gives him a chance to get his breath back, but Gaara’s heart jumps right back up between his ears when he reaches the counter and is confronted with Lee’s handsome smile again. 

“So,” Lee says, “do you know what you’d like?” 

“Yeah, can I get a- “ Gaara swallows back a wince. “- _I’m a Crepe, I’m a Weirdough_?” 

“Absolutely!” Lee punches in his order on the sleek-looking tablet that serves as the shop’s register. “Can I get you anything to drink with that?”

“You guys do coffee?”

“Sure, we have the _Deja Brew_ \- that’s a double-shot espresso, the _You Mocha Me Crazy_, and the _Better Latte Than Never_. Or, if you’re in the mood for tea, I recommend the _Matcha Do About Nothing_ latte.” 

“That last one sounds fine.”

Lee taps the screen a few more times. “Milk preference?”

“Um, normal?”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any dairy, but we do have almond milk, hemp milk, soy milk, and rice milk!”

_Nut milk._ Temari’s knives are so in for it when he gets back to the bakery. 

“Almond, I guess.” 

Lee spins the tablet around with practiced ease and waits for Gaara to pay. When Gaara stuffs a dollar in the tip jar (it’s labeled _We Knead the Dough!_), a little bell rings.

“Thanks a-latte!” the employees chorus with varying levels of enthusiasm. Lee’s voice is, predictably, the loudest of them all. 

As Gaara waits at the pick-up counter, a girl with a hairnet stretched over two twin buns saunters up to him and leans over, eyebrows waggling knowingly. 

“So,” she drawls, “you’re The Guy from the Other Bakery, huh?” Gaara can practically hear the capital letters, as if she were announcing his title: Gaara, Guy of the Other Bakery. 

“Um,” he says. “Yeah. It’s my sister’s shop.”

She gives him a thin smile. She has a foam knife in one hand and, without looking, she starts to flip it along the backs of her knuckles. She and Temari would probably get along swimmingly. 

“Lee told me a lot about you,” she says. Her eyes narrow. “Did you come here to poach my favorite coworker?”

Gaara gulps. 

Suddenly, Lee appears behind her and throws an arm around her shoulder with a forced laugh. 

“Haha, Tenten! Such a joker!” He gives her a warning look. “Please don’t scare off the customers.”

She raises an eyebrow at Lee, then shrugs his arm off of her. When she turns, the back of her shirt reads, _Baking the World a Better Place_.

Lee hands Gaara his cup - made of 100% recycled plastic, or so the label on it proclaims - and a scratchy brown paper bag that’s steaming slightly. 

“Careful,” he warns, “the crepe is hot!” 

Gaara opens the bag and sniffs it tentatively. It smells delicious, all chocolatey and oozey. He can’t wait to get back to his car so he can eat it without being judged for licking his fingers.

“I heard a great joke the other day that made me think of you!” Lee says.

“Oh?”

“What do you call a redhead who works at a bakery?” Lee asks with a sly smile. 

“I don’t know, Lee,” Gaara deadpans. “What _do_ you call a redhead who works at a bakery.” 

“The ginger bread man!” Lee howls, slapping his own knee. 

Gaara blinks at him in silence.

“I’m leaving now,” he says.

Temari ends up scolding him for not remembering anything about the store’s customers or sales figures, but the crepe really is tasty, right down to the chocolate shavings that get stuck in his teeth.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Kankuro gripes while he carefully traces a sugar-ink pattern onto a fondant disc, “can you get off my dick for one second?”

“I’m not on your dick,” Gaara reminds him.

“It’s a turn of phrase. What is it about _these_ specific cupcakes that’s got you so worked up?”

“I just want to make sure Lee will like them,” Gaara says, leaning over Kankuro’s shoulder and eyeing the consistency of the blue frosting in the icing bag. “They’re very meaningful to him.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with this guy now?” Kankuro rolls his eyes. 

“He said to call him that.” Gaara nudges Kankuro’s arm aside to get closer to the decorating table. “Don’t you think the icing needs to be a bit thinner?” 

“What, you’re the fucking president of cupcakes now?” Kankuro elbows him back out of the way. “Let the expert work his magic.” 

There’s an audible throat clearing noise behind them, and they both turn guiltily to look up at Temari’s judgmental expression. It’s really unfair that she’s taller than both of them, even without the heels. 

“Gaara,” she says, and her voice is oddly gentle, “is this the half-dozen cupcake order for that boy who came in earlier this week?” 

Gaara feels his ears heating up. He rolls a stray bit of fondant between his fingers and nods. 

“Hmm.” The sharp tips of Temari’s nails drum against her metal coffee thermos. It’s bright purple and labeled _Boss Bitch_. “Why don’t you go ahead and bump the order to a dozen? On the house.”

Gaara furrows his eyebrows. Temari _never_ gives discounts on custom orders. It’s against her business ethics, or so she says. 

“After all,” she says, and takes a long, slow sip of coffee, “it seems like we want him to be a repeat customer, don’t we?”

She doesn’t give him the chance to reply before she turns and walks off, her stilettos click-clacking across the floor.

“Cryptic witch,” Kankuro mutters. “Hey squirt, you wanna try your hand at one of these?” He holds out the icing bag to Gaara, who takes it. “Since it’s such a big, important order and all.”

The back of Gaara’s neck goes hot while he focuses on carefully piping around the edge of the bird, his tongue sticking out from between his teeth. When he’s finished, he looks up at Kankuro for approval.

The corners of Kankuro’s mouth rapidly start to approach his chin. 

“Dude, it looks like a pigeon with the Bubonic Plague. We can’t sell that to a customer.”

* * *

On Tuesday afternoon, Lee comes into the shop faintly sweaty, a gym towel around his neck and a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. So he does work out, then, and isn’t just a naturally impeccable specimen. 

“_Donut Worry, Be Happy!_” Lee recites, gesturing to Gaara’s pink Tuesday shirt. “That’s precious.”

“I can’t believe you actually find that funny,” Gaara says drily. 

“What can I say?” Lee shrugs his broad shoulders. “I have an _eggs_-cellent sense of humor.” He raises his eyebrows a few times, grinning.

“That one’s a stretch,” Gaara says, as he retrieves Lee’s neatly boxed order and brings it to the back table.

“Really?” Lee pouts. “I thought it was clever. Eggs, baking - get it?”

“I get it,” Gaara confirms. “It was just terrible.”

Lee has a sulky, hangdog expression while Gaara opens the box to show him the finished product. He almost feels bad for teasing him. _Almost_. 

When Lee peeks inside the box, he gasps. Both hands come up to cover his mouth. He’s so theatrical, it’s like watching the world’s loudest silent film actor.

“Ohh!” he squeals. “They’re just perfect!” 

Gaara almost thinks he sees tears starting to well up in the corners of Lee’s eyes. 

“I really can’t thank you enough,” Lee says, and - yep, those are tears alright. Big, fat ones, streaming down Lee’s cheeks. Gaara’s fingers prickle with the faint edges of panic. “Neji’s going to love them.”

“Um.” Gaara casts around for something - anything - to interrupt the torrent of emotion. “Did you wanna try one? There’s an extra. I tried to decorate it, but it came out all fucked up.” 

Lee nods silently, still staring at the box of cupcakes with his hands clasped in front of him as if in awed prayer. He’s noisily blowing his nose when Gaara returns with the sugar-coated monument to his own artistic failures on a tiny plate. 

“Oh no!” Lee gasps, and his eyes start to water again. Fuck, he even cries pretty, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “This one is my favorite of them all!” Lee cradles the cupcake close to his face and his nose wrinkles adorably. “Just look at him. I don’t know if I can bring myself to eat it.”

“I promise it’s not as bad as it looks,” Gaara explains. “The inside is normal, it’s just the outside that got ruined.”

“It’s not ruined at all!” Lee declares, setting the plate down decisively. “It has such _personality_!” That’s one way to describe an abomination that should have never been created, Gaara thinks. 

Lee purses his lips. A dangerous gesture when someone looks as kissable as he does. 

“Could we share it?” Lee asks. His bushy eyebrows raise. 

What is Gaara supposed to do, tell him no?

“Sure.”

Lee claps his hands in delight, just like an excited little kid at a birthday party. He uses the fork Gaara hands him to carefully split the cake in two and pushes the plate to sit between them. 

“Wow,” Lee breathes, after he’s taken his first bite. “This is amazing!”

“Better than vegan?” Gaara asks.

Lee nods enthusiastically, mouth full. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows.

“Yeah, I mean, the health food stuff is really good, don’t get me wrong, but there’s just something about real butter and sugar that’s just... “ 

“It’s the simple carbs.”

Lee stuffs another bite in his mouth and moans in a way that makes shivers roll down Gaara’s spine. Lee glances at Gaara’s face, then freezes. Shit, is he blushing that obviously? Normally his skin is dark enough that a blush isn’t super visible, but his face is on fire, and the way Lee’s looking at him-

“Uh,” Lee says. “You have some frosting- “

_Oh,_ Gaara thinks numbly, as Lee’s thumb swipes a bit of icing off his cheek. When Lee sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks the frosting off, Gaara’s heart starts doing backflips in his chest. Somebody better call the hospital, because if he hears that wet _pop_ when Lee pulls his thumb from his mouth ever again, he’s going to flatline. 

The door to the kitchen swings open with a creak and Temari’s heels click across the floor, the wheels of the cake cart rumbling behind her. Without looking up, Gaara can hear her give a little huff and pivot on one foot. The kitchen door clatters back shut, but when Gaara looks back at Lee’s face, he’s the full table length away again, face florid under his dusky tan. The moment is over.

“I should get going,” Lee says, picking his box of cupcakes up and standing. “Thanks again- wow, these are heavier than I thought they’d be!”

“There’s twelve of them in there,” Gaara says. “Two layers.”

“But I only paid for six- ”

Gaara shrugs and stands himself, his feet sweltering in his Crocs. 

“On the house,” he parrots Temari’s earlier words. “Hoping you’ll be a repeat customer.”

“Gaara,” Lee protests, “I can’t accept this. It’s too much. I can pay you back, or- “

“There’s no need, but- ” Gaara breathes in deep, feeling suddenly emboldened. He shakes the last of the nervous energy out of his sweaty palms. “- if you wanted to take me on a date, that would be- ” He clenches his eyes shut before he finishes his sentence. “- the icing on the cake.” 

Lee inhales sharply.

“Gaara,” he says, scandalized, “are you trying to … _batter_ me up with cake puns?” 

Gaara smiles at him weakly. 

“Sorry.” He winces. “But you know what they say … no whisk, no reward.”

Lee guffaws.

“Oh my gosh,” he breathes. Suddenly, warm hands are on Gaara’s shoulders, pulling him close. Dark eyes search his face. Gaara feels like he could break apart at any moment under that intense gaze. “Has anyone ever told you you’re amazing? Like, the perfect guy?”

No one ever has. Gaara shakes his head, now blushing profusely. 

“Okay, I have to get to the gym now, gotta work on these _buns of steel_, but I’ll see you soon?”

Gaara groans, head sinking into his hands. What has he gotten himself into? Lee laughs and tugs one hand away from his face, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice all sweetness and sincerity, “but it’s just … _how I roll_.”

“Get out of here,” Gaara says, shoving weakly at Lee’s shoulder. “I’ll email you after I get off and we can plan something?”

“Absolutely!” Lee says. At the door he pauses, looking over his shoulder. “Until our paths _croissant_ again!”

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to @hiddenramen's AirB&B host, Priscilla, for the phrase "nut milk".


End file.
